Number Fifteen
by psyche b. mused
Summary: A killer who thinks he has visited the darkest places a man can go finds out just how wrong he is....very violent


**Number Fifteen**

_Hellraiser_ fan fiction by psyche b. mused

**Notes**

This story contains GRAPHIC VIOLENCE and some sexual content. If you are offended by either or both of those things, please stop reading here.

"Pin Head", the Cenobites, the puzzle box and anything else from the Hellraiser universe belong to Clive Barker.

The chat room Roissy, and the occupants of that room are all my own creations as far as I know, with the vastness of the 'net though anything is possible.

Carl Ormand and Number Fifteen are my own creations. His opinions do not reflect my own.

All that said, this is a first posting, so all commentary is welcome and appreciated.

Carl Ormand sat down at his computer and typed in the web address. Even this mundane action sent a thrill through him. It heightened his senses, immersed his mind in the fantasies that always tugged at the corners of his consciousness and made his body tingle, as if the electricity from the machine was somehow leaking through the keys and into his dancing fingers. He typed in his user name and password and took a deep breath to steady himself before entering the chat room. Those he would meet there expected a certain persona, and if he was nervous it would translate to the way he expressed himself, and that could be disastrous. Building these characters took time and attention to detail that he was certain not everyone possessed, he was not going to let his own ridiculous emotion impede his progress when the goal was in sight. Finally, he hit the Enter button.

_Master of His Domain enters Roissy._

_Master of His Domain: Greetings A/all. smiling at the assembled C/company as He strides to His chair and settles comfortably_

_justine (GC) says to Master of His Domain: Greetings Sir. smiles from her place in her Master's lap_

_Guidance & Control (j) says to Master of His Domain: Greetings nodding and pulling His girl back into PM_

One by one he responded to the greetings of the other room occupants. It was only courteous and it was expected of him, but if anyone had taken the time to ask, Carl would have told them that he didn't care how someone's day was, or whether someone else resolved an ongoing issue with her eldest child. He was here for one purpose. The rest was a necessary, if somewhat distasteful ruse. Carl reminded himself that he wouldn't have to carry on this ruse for much longer, and he _had_ recently been referred to as one of the most genuine people on the net.

He was rather proud of that comment, even though he generally regarded the opinions of others as useless. Who were they, after all, to pass judgment on him? Carl was convinced that the majority of the people he met in the rooms didn't have lives. They had imaginary existences that were filled with flowery language and costumed elegance, and realities that encompassed trailer parks, overcooked Rice-A-Roni and some form of interaction with a partner. Perhaps it was sex, perhaps the same old argument, perhaps it was carefully structured avoidance. Their partner couldn't possibly understand them as well as their fellow fantasy players could. The reality of life couldn't possibly be as real and as intense as the words that appeared on the screen. It fascinated him, it repulsed him, and he always thanked the powers that be that it existed.

_precious possession says to Master of His Domain: quickly padding over to His chair on soft, bare feet...the strings of tiny silver bells around her ankles tinkling softly in the darkness of the chamber…she drops gracefully to her knees at His feet, her eyes lowered… This one humbly greets You Sir. Is there anything that You require that she might provide this evening?_

_Master of His Domain says to precious possession: A glass of wine, slave. seeming to ignore her presence_

It had been easy to learn what was expected. After a few hours of observing under a feminine moniker he captured the patter of exchanges. The nuance of capitalization, the expected words, phrases and descriptively shaded passages mixed with just the right flavor of the Medieval. Of course, he hadn't gone back right away, it was just possible that someone would make the connection. Besides, he had needed a few days to get his story down smoothly. He had to edit and embellish until he became the person behind the screen name. As time went on, creating that persona became easier and easier. This time, was in his opinion his most flawless performance, and he was almost sorry to see it end.

_precious possession says to Master of His Domain: rising and walking quickly to the bar area she chooses a crystal goblet and holds it up to the light to make certain that there are no flaws in the bowl of the glass…to further insure its perfection she presses the rim of the glass under one tender nipple and turns the glass fully around once….polishing it with a soft cloth before she fills it with chilled white wine….padding softly back to His chair she kneels again one hand under the base of the glass, the other on the stem to steady it…her eyes down…_

_Master of His Domain says to precious possession: letting her kneel there for a moment before taking the glass and sipping the wine… you are learning, slave, you may follow Me into My private chamber. rising from the chair and taking a large key from My belt…opening an all but hidden door behind My chair…not watching to see if the slave is following.._

_precious possession says to Master of His Domain: keeping her eyes lowered, allowing Him to pass through the door before following after Him on light feet, her silver slave bells trailing soft music after T/them…_

This was what the endless hellos and chatter was leading up to. While it wasn't the ultimate goal, it was the first step of making his fantasy a reality. All that remained was to assure her that his only thoughts were of her safety and well-being, to assuage her fears, calm her nervousness and make her feel as if she was silly for even dreaming that he could be insincere. And he knew that he could do it, because he had done it before.

_Master of His Domain PRIVATELY whispers to precious possession: That was beautiful My precious pet. smiling broadly and opening His arms to her_

_precious possession PRIVATELY whispers to Master of His Domain: Thank You Master. blushing a little as she runs to snuggle into His warm embrace i'm surprised i'm able to type at all…i'm sooooo nervous about tomorrow._

To Carl, it was as though she was reading from a script. He had heard it all before and his own uncertainty faded. He knew his lines well, and he knew that she was within his grasp as certainly as if he were standing over her at this very moment. Carl smiled a wicked little smile and began to type his response.

_Master of His Domain PRIVATELY whispers to precious possession: You have every right to be nervous, pet. Crossing several states to meet someone that you have chatted with only online is rather like buying a pig in a poke. If you change your mind I will understand. Is there anything I can do or say to ease your mind? holding her close and stroking her hair softly_

_precious possession PRIVATELY whispers to Master of His Domain: No…it's such a big step, but it's one that i really want to take. i've just never done anything like this before. resting her head against His shoulder, her eyes slightly closed What if You don't really like me when i get there?_

_Master of His Domain PRIVATELY whispers to precious possession: I've seen your pictures, talked to you here every night for more than six months. How could I not like you? You HAVE been honest, haven't you?_

_precious possession PRIVATELY whispers to Master of His Domain: Of course i've been honest Master! If i hadn't been there is no way that i could ever face You again, not even in here. You have been honest too, haven't You?_

Carl had always been keenly aware that telling as much of the truth that suited him was the best way to lie. That way creativity was neither tested, nor did it have the opportunity to run wild. Memory wasn't tested either when it came to recounting his stories at appropriate times. It also made it very easy if someone wanted to verify a story. He had noticed that most people would check one bit of information, and finding it true, would assume that the rest was true as well. He strove to give them more true things than untrue things in a fabrication, so his odds were better. When he did have to remove the parts of the cloth of veracity that were unacceptable, Carl rewove the fabric of the truth carefully, and then only with hues of dishonesty that were as close to the original color as possible.

_Master of His Domain PRIVATELY whispers to precious possession: I have no reason to be dishonest, pet. What purpose would that serve when My goal is to meet you and have a lasting, fulfilling relationship in the real world?_

_precious possession PRIVATELY whispers to Master of His Domain: Well, none i guess. And You know i want that too._

He could almost hear her. The single tones of uncertainty, anticipation and absolute sincerity in her voice sounding together and resulting in the loveliest quivering chord that underscored each and every syllable. He could feel the tingling swelling between his legs.

_Master of His Domain PRIVATELY whispers to precious possession: Yes pet, I know. smiling, stroking her hair softly Have you told anyone that you're coming here to meet Me?_

Carl knew that the question read as a casual inquiry into her safety, but asking it always gave him a knot in his stomach. If she said yes, he knew that he would have to tell her that she was good and wise for doing so. Even then, he would still get a week or so of sexual gratification out of it, but then there was the extrication from the relationship, and that could get messy. This time, he could probably risk it. The girl had no family that she was close to her and he could tell from the way that she talked that she was only tolerated by those she considered friends. She was just one of the many who could drop off the face of the Earth and not be missed. Carl brought himself back to reality quickly and reminded himself that he hadn't gotten so far in life, or fulfilled so many of his darkest dreams, by taking unnecessary risks.

_precious possession PRIVATELY whispers to Master of His Domain: looking away, speaking in a small voice No, Master._

Carl's heart leapt. He had been reasonably certain from talking to her all this time that she wouldn't have told anyone else the whole truth. Still, the part of him that needed to cover all bases had to ask. He took a deep breath to calm himself before responding. To her, it would look like a thoughtful pause, as if he were searching for the right words, and he was, just not in the way that she thought. He reminded himself to contain his enthusiasm and drew another deep, cleansing breath.

_Master of His Domain PRIVATELY whispers to precious possession: Now pet, what did W/we talk about? I'm only thinking of your peace of mind. _

_precious possession PRIVATELY whispers to Master of His Domain: i know that Master, and i really did try. But i asked my family what they thought of online relationships and they freaked out. My friends all thought i was weird for even asking. i COULDN'T tell them after all the lectures and everything. looking away_

Carl was rather surprised that she had told anyone else at all. He thought she might broach the subject with her friends, but she was shocked that she had brought it up to her family. He stroked his chin for a moment and thought before responding. He didn't want to take the chance of setting off her radar at this stage of the game. He decided it was best to respond as he usually would.

_Master of His Domain PRIVATELY whispers to precious possession: Yes, well I can see where you wouldn't want to after all of that. stroking her face lightly Are you sure you want to come…that you feel safe I mean….?_

By now, Carl knew what the answer would be. He didn't ask the question because he wanted to know the answer; he asked the question because not asking would have seemed suspicious.

_precious possession PRIVATELY whispers to Master of His Domain: It's like You said Master, W/we have been talking all this time, W/we both want the same things. i feel more comfortable with You than i do with people in my real time world. i'm nervous, but when i think about NOT going i feel so empty inside. i don't think i'm making sense anymore. looking away_

_Master of His Domain PRIVATELY whispers to precious possession: No My precious pet, you make perfect sense. If you feel comfortable coming, then I am more than happy to welcome you with open arms. very big smile, holding her close _

Carl sat back in his chair and smiled. The rest was a formality. To ask if she had everything packed and to remind her to bring something dressy as well as her casual clothes. He would remind her that nothing would happen sexually if she didn't feel truly comfortable with it. Carl would then admonish her that it was getting late and she needed her rest for the long trip tomorrow and that he would be waiting anxiously for her to pull into his driveway and not to hesitate to call if she got lost, he knew the house was remote.

From the moment she arrived she would follow his script.

Carl whistled "In the Hall of the Mountain King" as he cleared away the dishes, making sure to wash both wine glasses immediately. He supposed that bit didn't matter so much, but leaving a mess would weigh on his mind when there were so many other details that would need to be seen to in the next few days. Besides, he had some time to kill, so to speak. The drug he had given her would keep her unconscious for at least an hour more and he was certain that she was secured in the basement. There was nothing else to do but wait so he might as well clean up the supper dishes.

It was beautiful, Carl thought to himself as he washed the good china carefully. She had arrived just before dinner, exactly as planned. He had greeted her literally with open arms and she had shyly accepted his welcoming hug.

"I feel funny calling you 'Master' out loud." Was the first thing that she said to him as he ushered her into the house. And she had the prettiest blush when she said it.

"You don't have to," He had touched her cheek lightly and put on his most charming smile. "Just call me Carl. Come on, I'll give you the fifty-cent tour. It used to be the twenty-five cent tour, but I figured with dinner at the end it was worth the extra quarter."

He knew she was at more at ease when she laughed softly behind him. She seemed to calm down as he showed her through the house, beginning with the living room, leaving her bags in the guest room and ending up in the candlelit dining room where the table was already set with his grandmother's good china. She had been charmed by that too.

"I hope you like roast chicken." He said, pulling her chair out for her.

"Yes, yes I do." She started to sit down and then got up again. "Can I do anything to help?"

"No no no," He laughed. "Being alone I've gotten quite efficient in the kitchen. Everything is ready. Just sit down and I'll have it all on the table in no time."

She sat obediently and he poured her a glass of wine while he brought out the chicken, potatoes, salad and fresh green beans almandine.

"I hope you're hungry, I guess I don't get to cook too often, so when I do I go overboard." Again, that charming smile and the complete truth. He did enjoy cooking, he always had and even though all his grandmother ever said about it was that he left a mess in the kitchen, he had managed to hold onto the pleasure he felt in it.

Still, being that he was alone, making a big meal every night was kind of a waste. It was another reason he enjoyed the cat and mouse games he played with them. It was also exceedingly easy to knock her wineglass off the table and let it shatter on the tumbled stone floor. Of course, being a good host he swept away the shards and brought a new one from the kitchen. They never guessed that the new one had been specially prepared, and the candlelight would hide the cloudy residue in the bottom of the glass until he poured more wine.

This one had been like all the others. She said she really shouldn't have any more, but he encouraged her by saying that it was already in the glass and, predictably she drank it down. Also predictably, she told him how tired she felt all of a sudden from the long drive and the nervous excitement. This one had a stronger constitution than most, she actually made it back to her room before succumbing to the drug.

His feelings about that had been mixed. Carl was glad that this final one was stronger than she appeared, she would make a more worthy offering, but it did mean that he had had to carry her further through the house and then down the basement stairs. He supposed a lesser man would have dragged her. He wasn't completely above doing that if need be, but he preferred to carry them. Dragging, especially down stairs always caused bruises and pain when they woke up, he liked to begin with a blank canvas. The drug probably resulted in a headache, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Carl dried the dishes carefully with a soft dish towel and stacked them back in the china cabinet with a growing sense of trepidation. This is what he wanted more than anything. The time was right. The girl was available and certainly not going anywhere. He reminded himself that he always felt like this just before he began leading his guests through the dark passages of his fantasies. It was the same fluttery feeling that plagued him just before a solo in the church choir. Then, as now he would hit the proper notes in the proper order and he would see that there was nothing to worry about.

Of course there had always been the possibility of getting caught, but he had brushed that aside fairly early on. With the first one, he had made his biggest mistake. It was true that using the internet to lure her had been a good idea, but he also learned that his activities were traceable when he received a phone call from a police detective who was looking for her. Carl smiled a bit at the memory. Detective Tom Gerald was his name and while Carl could remember his name as if they had spoken only yesterday, he found that he had no idea what Number One's name had been. He also remembered the bit of information he had gleaned from the good detective that they had found him from chats and e-mails saved on Number One's computer.

"She was supposed to go there for a visit," He could hear the lack of caring in the man's voice and knew this was just a formality, and probably one he had been pushed into to get rid of someone who was hounding him. "And it seems that she didn't return home when she said she would."

"What do you mean she isn't there? She never arrived here, I sent several e-mails but she didn't answer so I assumed that she had changed her mind about the whole thing." Carl paused, thankful to whatever possessed him to send those messages and salted his voice with embarrassment. "Did you read our chats?"

"Yes, we did Mr. Ormand." This time, the detective sounded embarrassed.

"Well, then you know that we didn't just talk about the weather. Honestly it didn't surprise me that she didn't show up, even though I told her that nothing would happen. I had reserved a room for her at a local hotel, under my name. I can give you their number, if you want to check it out." Carl looked at the door to the basement and smiled a little. He had had to fight the urge to take the phone down into the basement and stand next to Number One as he was speaking. The part about the hotel room was absolutely true though.

"Yeah." He could hear the man fumbling around for a pen and the corner of his mouth turned up into a little smile again. "Go ahead." And Carl did.

"Can you tell me if there is anywhere else she might go, instead of to your place as planned?" The detective asked.

"A friend or family member would be my only guess, but you must have talked to all of them already. I don't know of anyone else she would have been online with, but, you must have all that too, if you found me."

"We do. I was just wondering if you might know something that wasn't here." He heard the detective tapping his pen on the desk or a pad of paper or something. "I'll give you my number, if you think of anything give me a call."

"Of course, and Detective, if you find her, can you call me or e-mail or something? I mean, we talked a long time and I don't want to bother her but I do care if she's ok." Carl was proud of the note of sincerity and the barest hint of a tearful crack he had put into his voice and vowed to remember it for another time. He also told himself that he would have to be more careful in the ways that he contacted potential partners.

He could remember cradling the phone softly after writing down the detective's number and walked down into the basement. Some of her wounds were looking infected now and he knew that he was about done with her. This would be the perfect time to tell her about his little conversation with the police. He saw hope flash across her face only to see the weight of hopelessness crush her again, and that really was the best part.

He had killed her after dinner that night, when she had a bit of fight left in her.

The police never did call back.

He was still careful in selecting the kind of women he did, but as he moved forward he learned more about how the police worked. That morsel of information about the computer had served him well. After Number One he only got close to women who had laptops, and he always insisted they they bring them along. The police hadn't caught him after the first two or three, and by now he was pretty sure they weren't going to.

Carl felt himself getting lost in memories as he carefully cleaned the deep green granite counter. He had replaced the mustard yellow formica only a year before and he was still quite proud of the fresh, clean look he had achieved with the stone and new white cabinets. Every time he looked at it though he could hear his grandmother lecturing that the Devil lived in comfort and beauty and only through austerity could one find God. Often her sermons were conducted with leather punctuation being applied to his skin, just so he wouldn't forget his lessons. This room was the one he always thought of her in, and it had been the first he wanted to change. How it had become the last was something that he never could explain to himself. He had wondered how she had kept this intense hold on him, even after her death. And he wondered if he could develop that intensity with another, forcing her to entwine her whole existence with his, becoming nothing except what he allowed and commanded.

In the beginning it had only been a fleeting fancy. Over time it had become a familiar curiosity that overwhelmed him in quiet moments and intruded with welcome stillness when his mind couldn't find a place to rest in a storm of memory. Carl couldn't say when it happened, or how it happened, but he knew that there came a time when his inner life of complete control became more real than the bed he slept in or the food he ate.

Could he lure someone? And by 'someone' he meant a real person, not a street whore who would go with anyone. Could he carry out his dark dreams? Would the things that he dreamed of be as wonderful as he thought they could be?

Of course he was able to lure them and anything that he could fantasize about he could carry out. As to were they as wonderful, well that he had always had mixed emotions about. The reality was always wonderful enough to spark new dreams, but it always lacked some of the perfection of the fantasies. His living specimens never responded quite the way he anticipated, no matter how careful he was to lead them in the right direction. Afterward though, the memory was wonderfully malleable. He could take the emotions and physical sensations that he had experienced and sharpen them while removing the responses and actions that were meaningless to him. They had always been a way to satisfy that quiet little voice that wondered 'what would happen if…'? And there were always new 'what ifs' to be explored.

Now he had another reason, and this one would be the cherry on the cake of the first chapter of his illustrious career.

Carl had just placed the roaster in the cupboard when he heard her scream from the basement. He smiled. At first he had thought about being with them as they realized their situation and then noticed the ones who had come and gone before watching them struggle impotently. The more he thought about it though, the more he thought it should be a private moment. After the first one, he let them have these few moments alone, besides, if they were alone they would think escape was possible, and that would give them hope. False hope of course, but the moment that hope was dashed was always priceless.

Carl dried his hands on the towel that had always hung on the refrigerator door and checked the hall mirror. True, there was a little more gray in his hair than there had been when he first started this adventure, but he liked to think of that as a sign of his experience. He was still a handsome man by most standards. She should be grateful that the last face she would ever see was one so attractive.

He trotted down the stairs lightly, and greeted Number Fifteen with the same warm smile he had greeted her with only a few hours before. Of course this time she didn't smile back, he presumed it had something to do with the fact she was naked and bound an "X" shaped St. Andrew's cross.

"Hello! You're awake I see." He said, sounding chipper as ever.

"What-what…?" He could see her struggling to form words. The drug must still be clouding her mind a bit so he began with his welcome speech. He said something different each time, depending on what was before him, but the basic elements were all there.

"Now just relax. You're not going to break those bindings, so struggling will just tire you out." He spoke in a conversational tone and pulled up a paint and blood spattered ladderback chair he kept down there. Sitting down comfortably before he began again. "You're a smart girl in some respects so telling you what is ultimately going to happen to you isn't necessary. Neither is going into detail about what I'm going to do to you because I like to see the look of surprise when I present you with each new experience."

He realized that her eyes were fixed on the others and he watched her for a moment. Noticing how her struggles ceased momentarily and then began again with even more fervor.

"Beautiful aren't they?" He said, walking over to the shelving unit. "You know, I built this myself. I saw something like it on the New Yankee Workshop and decided that that would be just the thing to give the ladies a new home. They were on one of those metal shelves before and it just seemed to cheapen them." Carl adjusted one of the large glass specimen jars and the severed head that floated in the preservative inside shifted a bit, the discolored dyed hair floated around the head in a cloud. He heard Number Fifteen retch a little behind him.

"Aw now," He turned away from his collection and looked at her. "They're your sister wives. True, the years have not been kind to some of them, especially Number Two. I got the flu when I was just finishing consummating our relationship and she finished without me. It was a couple of days before I could get back down here and, well, nature is not always kind." He stroked the glass over the mottled cheek lovingly. "I was rather upset, but just because she isn't the fresh young thing I first fell for doesn't mean I care for her any less. I've become much more skillful since then."

"You're insane." She whispered.

"No, technically I'm not. In the eyes of the law I would have to be unaware of the difference between right and wrong to be considered insane. I know that the law says what I'm doing is wrong. I simply don't care. Perhaps that makes me immoral, but not insane." He smiled in a conciliatory way and wiped a bit of drool from her chin in a comforting, fatherly way.

"How could you lie like that?" He could tell even she thought it sounded lame, but he could also see that her mind was still addled from the drug and the fear.

"Well it really wasn't a lie, now was it? I told you that I was looking for a long term relationship in the real world. That's the absolute truth. I will carry you with me forever, and you will help me to achieve a goal that I've held dear for quite some time." He stroked a finger over her cheek, down over her nipple and smiled when it stood erect. He knew it was from the rush of fear and endorphines but he liked it anyway. He leaned close to her ear. "And I have to say, I picked a lovely canvas on which to create my final masterpiece. Of course you will have to suffer for my art."

He stepped back again and smiled that warm inviting smile. As she screamed and cried and began to beg he stepped back and watched. Finally she settled down again and he leaned in and licked the tears from her cheeks. "I did tell you to make sure someone knew where you were going, pet. If you had listened, we would have had a week of sex and I would have sent you roses with a polite note of dismissal when you got back home. It's not my fault you chose this path. I'm glad of course, but it's not my fault."

"I did." She said quickly. He could almost see the wheels of her mind spinning, grasping desperately at straws. It was something they all did, but none of them were very convincing. "I told my sister, and my best friend."

"No, you didn't." Confidence was evident in his voice, as well as a note of disappointment. "You were hoping that I would believe you because something in you still thinks that you can get out of this. You can't. The sooner you accept that, the better."

"You sadistic bastard." She was trying hard not to sob, but he could tell she was losing the fight. She had begun twisting in her bonds again, only this time he felt the hope draining out of her as if it were thick blood leaking through his fingers. The comment sent an icy little thorn into his heart and he stood back again.

"You're half right, pet." Carl walked behind her and heard her twist around in her bonds but he knew that she couldn't see what he was doing. "My mother was a high-school whore, so my father could have been any of a number of men or boys. I was lucky though, my grandmother put her out of the house and raised me herself. Of course she never let me forget that I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, but you know what they say; the sins of the parents shall be visited upon the children. A sadist though, that is something else all together." He set one of the objects in his hand down just behind her and brought the other two around to the front of her again. He got down on one knee and attached the metal bar to her ankle cuffs and secured it to rings in the floor. Then he attached her wrists to a second bar and lowered a chain from the ceiling to attach to a ring on the top bar. He pulled the chain taut so that her body was stretched, with her arms and legs held wide apart as they had been on the cross.

"What are you going to do to me?" She was whimpering and struggling a little and her terror was beginning to scent the air between them.

"I'm going to explain to you why I'm not a sadist." He released the cuffs from the cross and pushed it out of the way. "There, that's better. Do you like it, by the way?" He asked indicating the dim basement. It was one of his most prized possessions. Before he had lured anyone, before attempted to indulge any of his other fantasies, he had modified the basement. Building the infrastructure of torment had been enough for awhile. These dreams were, after all, as close to perfect as he could make them. They did not talk back, or call him names, or bite at inopportune moments. "It took years to assemble everything. Most of it is handmade you know. People don't appreciate that when they see it, but it took quite a bit of time and planning to bring it all together and make it work."

Carl's hand caressed the taut line of her stretched abdomen and he stepped away to pick up the object he had left behind.

"Wh-what did you build first?" She asked, trying hard to give her voice a normal tone. He smiled a little at the question.

"Good try. Get your captor talking and maybe he will see you as human, and not be able to carry out his plans. It's good advice of course, in fact it's advice that I would have given you online. Unfortunately that doesn't work when the one you're speaking to knows what you're doing." He smiled and slashed viciously at her abdomen with what she first thought was an ordinary leather flogger, until she looked down and saw the trails of blood erupting from the lines the tails had traced. She screamed and began to twist sharply as the pain bloomed along with the blood. He watched for a moment and began with slow, methodical strokes as he circled her. The blood cast off of the wicked tool adding to the spatters already on the walls. He smiled a little at the difference in color between the ancient blacks, the old rusty reds, and the fresh bright drops and trails painted across the neutral gray of the cement walls. For a moment he was captivated by it, knowing that Jackson Pollock himself couldn't have done any better. He could see the pain overwhelming her senses. Carl moved to stand in front of her again, the steel-tipped thongs of the flogger dripping blood slowly into a small puddle.

"Now, I had started to tell you why I am not a sadist." He began in the same conversational tone again. Number Fifteen whimpered and struggled a little in her bonds, her salty tears falling onto the wounds in her chest. The sting making her cry harder.

"Since you are a smart girl I will assume that you know the term 'sadist' itself comes from the Marquis de Sade, and that you know who he was. In recent times sadism has been defined as a paraphilia. A sexual disorder in other words." Carl knew that he sounded as though he was giving a lecture to a bored class.

"Let me go, please. I promise I won't tell anyone." Carl had expected something along those lines when she regained her breath.

"Now we both know that's a lie, and I do abhor a badly told lie." He brought the wicked instrument up between her spread thighs several times and the howl she produced was almost inhuman. Carl smiled a bit.

"Where was I? Oh yes, a sexual disorder. Now I think that is ridiculous, because the modern sadist who operates within the boundaries of the law seeks out a masochist so that his sexual pleasure is intensified by the gratification his partner receives as well as from her screams of pain. What consenting adults do is their business." He had begun to pace in front of her in a professorial way. "For people like myself, and there are more of us than you would like to imagine, seeing you suffer is not enough. Knowing that you're agony is wrought by our hands is not enough. We are beyond caring that our fodder doesn't wish to participate the activities we choose, in fact, that resistance makes the ultimate conquest even sweeter. And that conquest is not sex." He took one long step and was directly in front of Number Fifteen. "That conquest is feeling the life drain out of your body and into mine." He smiled at her look of abject terror, barely hearing her incoherent pleading for mercy.

"Obviously, what I am goes beyond the vulgarity of mere sex. I am the one who holds your life in my hand, and until I crush you like a frightened bird I will use you to satisfy my curiosities." He leaned close to her ear and barely whispered. "That makes me God."

Number Fifteen began to twist as sharply as she could in her bonds. Begging, screaming, perhaps even praying, Carl wasn't really listening as he began methodical whipping once again, marveling as her pale flesh in the harsh glow of the fluorescents went from the untouched alabaster of a goddess's earthly presence to the map of agony drawn by the metal tips on the flogger. He knew from his experiences with the others that if he continued long enough the bites the tails took would be accompanied by chunks of skin an eventually muscle. He usually tired about the time most of the skin was gone from his charge's back and breasts and this time was no different.

He stopped for a moment and watched her drifting on the verge of consciousness and decided to give her a few moments of rest. It was no good if she was unconscious. The unconscious couldn't react and it was her reactions that he needed. He got a bottle of Fiji water out of the small fridge he had placed under the display shelves and sat in the chair again, watching her blood and fluids dry in sticky trails down her limp body. He sipped the water and smiled. Fiji water was the only kind of bottled water he could distinguish from what comes out of the garden hose. It was ridiculously expensive but this room was all about treating himself.

"Why don't you just kill me. That's what you want anyway." Her head hanging forward, her voice was barely audible.

"No, it isn't. If I wanted to 'just kill' someone I wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of grooming you and winning your trust. I could have just found someone, a whore maybe, who would have come with me for the promise of a few dollars. I could strangle her or slice her throat or anything else that was relatively quick and then dump her in a ditch somewhere. I spent a great deal of time selecting you, thinking about what I might like to do to you, and while killing you is definitely part of it, it's not the only part. Besides, you have a special purpose to fulfill for me." Carl drained the last drops of water from the small square bottle and tossed it into the cardboard box in the corner. "It seems like you're recovered a bit now."

"No, please stop.." She was begging again. To Carl, her pleas sounded like birds chattering outside his window in the morning. He knew they were there, but the sound didn't penetrate his consciousness. He went over to the old wooden armoire that he had found at a farm auction. It had been painted at least five different colors over the years, and had managed not to hold onto any of them fully. Something about that appealed to him. He returned to stand in front of her with a small trigger-spray mister likes those found in hair salons.

"I'm going to have to go upstairs and get some rest soon and that means I'm going to have to take you down from there. If I don't, you won't be able to exhale properly and that could put undue strain on your heart. I didn't ask enough questions about your specific health so I can't take any chances. First though, I want to make certain that your wounds won't get infected, at least not yet." He squeezed the trigger of the bottle and Number Fifteen's scream seemed to shake the concrete walls themselves when the alcohol bloomed to fire on her raw flesh.

Carl didn't let it bother him. He moved around her writhing body, misting each sliced surface thoroughly. Eventually he realized that she had stopped screaming and her body was limp. Usually he didn't want them to pass out, but it made moving them easier. He took a clean towel and wiped most of the blood off of her skin and moved her onto the cot in the corner. The sheet was clean but if one looked closely the blood stains on the mattress were a ghostly reminder of the others.

He left the bar on her feet and clipped it to the metal foot of the cot. He lifted her head and put the bar holding her hands behind it, attaching it in two different directions so that she couldn't move her arms up or down. Carl looked down at her and kissed her forehead in a fatherly way before starting upstairs again, leaving only the light over the display shelves on. He didn't want her to feel as if she were all alone in a dark, strange place. Removing the fabric from her body would be a new adventure for the next day.

Carl stretched out in bed and leafed through the scrap book that he kept next to his bed. All the movies and books said that serial killers kept news clippings of their victims, but that wasn't what he kept in this book. The fact was that he didn't know what kind of media coverage his victims got in their local areas. He preferred to collect them from such diverse places and long distances that finding local papers from those areas would have been suspicious. Searching online would take up too much of his valuable time. Certainly none of them had garnered national attention. They were all relatively average girls. Some were a bit too plump, some had big noses, some were not white, all had tenuous connections at best to family. He knew without a doubt that he loved them more as they were than they had ever been loved while they lived. None had the appearance of a "media darling", not like a Laci Peterson or the pretty blond who had dropped off the face of the earth on a vacation to Aruba a year ago now.

This collection was something not covered in the books or in the movies. It had taken five years to come up with enough information to fill the first five pages, and one of those pages was filled with an eight by ten photograph of an intense man in uniform. The rest was sketchy at best, but there were enough pieces there to guess at the full picture. His finger traced the underlined passages lovingly almost. He knew them word for word, but seeing them again tonight seemed very important somehow. Eventually he closed the book and picked up his rosary.

For his whole life, Carl had been taught to talk to God. At first, he believed that God might forgive him for being born out of wedlock, but he had soon let go of that fantasy. After that, the words ceased to be anything more to him than a means to keep his grandmother from fetching the leather belt that was always close at hand. Eventually, he began to see the value of religion. People never wanted to think anything bad about those they worshiped with, and the words of his night prayers acted as a lullaby for an overexcited mind. Perhaps, he thought, he was as attached to his rituals as any other like him, they were just different rituals. He crossed himself and began with the Our Father.

Carl studied the beaten and bloody form stretched on the table before him. She was beyond begging for death, for release, or for mercy. The pain she was in consumed everything but her incoherent screams and cries. He wasn't sure if she even saw the straight razor in his hand, or, if she did see it, if she understood what he was telling her. Her real understanding didn't matter to him now, any more than it had in the beginning. She was a means to an end. He leaned close to her ear.

"Number Fifteen," He said in a quiet, sing-song voice. "Can you still hear me? I know you're not dead, though you wish you were. Well, don't worry." He stroked her hair lovingly and smiled into her eyes. "It will all be over soon."

She started to cry and he knew that she understood him. He smiled and pulled the piece of black velvet off an object that he had placed in the chair when he first got down there. She didn't see the object and that was how he wanted to keep it. She might, in her final moments, come to realize a tiny portion of what she was helping to create. The means to that creation was not something she needed to concern herself with.

"Do you believe in God, Number Fifteen?" He cooed. She couldn't respond, and he didn't really want to hear it anyway. "If you do, I suggest you say your prayers. If you don't, well, I guess that doesn't change the outcome at all, now does it?"

Carl's hands were shaking as he turned back to the chair. He took a deep breath. This was something that he had seen in his mind more times than he could count. Number Fourteen was practice with everything but the ultimate prize at the end. Now the moment was here. Carl reached down and let his fingers move lightly over the surfaces of the cube, releasing notes of sweet music as he began his manipulations. He bent over, the straight razor held casually as he fingers moved over the surface, parts of the puzzle box sliding and then coming together again in new patterns. The quality of light becoming suffused with a colder shade of white. Finally, the rough star he formed rested on the chair and he turned back to Number Fifteen. She was watching the gathering light, no doubt thinking that this was her salvation. He sliced from just under her sternum to just above her pubic bone. She was arched back, screaming, but Carl didn't notice. He separated the muscles gently, groaning as he revealed her pulsing organs through the scant barrier of the peritoneum. The light was nearly blinding now. Number Fifteen was limp on the table, her blood was dripping in soft, thick sounding splashes onto the concrete floor, the scent of it filling the room like a sensuous perfume.

It was then he realized that he was no longer alone. Carl looked over her shoulder, razor poised to slice through the membrane. He found that he could barely breathe; finally he swallowed hard and lowered the razor to his side.

"You called, we came." The central figure stated simply in a voice that seemed to fill the room. He seemed taller than the others, but that could have been his presence. To Carl he seemed robed in darkness itself. It emanated from him as did stillness. Carl was aware of the others, but they seemed a pale imitation of him. Number Fifteen moved her head slightly and stared at the apparition with the piercing eyes and the pin-studded head and face, but Carl no longer noticed her.

"I" Carl faltered and then steeled himself as the eyes watching him narrowed. "I am Carl Ormand. I called you because I want to offer you my skills." He had worked so hard on what to say and now all of his eloquent words, that he had rehearsed more times than he could count, were gone. The razor slipped from his hand and he heard the wet sound as it fell into the blood on the floor. He felt his knees shaking.

"Skills?" He asked in an even voice. "Are you referring to the mess you've made there?"

Number Fifteen groaned. Her body trembled and the regal creature moved to the other side of the table, studying her for a moment. Carl was shocked by the words, his grandmother's voice echoing in his head.

"It took me days, she couldn't even imagine that she could hurt so bad and live." All of a sudden he was seven years old again and trying to find an answer that would please his grandmother.

The short, hollow laugh was enough to freeze Carl's blood. The voice was as even as before. "Do you have any idea what we are?"

"Demons. You take people or souls and torture them for eternity." Carl had to look away from the infinite eyes that fixed him. He looked at the neat rows of jars, drawing strength from his family of wives.

"We go where we are called, and provide the education that the one who called requires. Did she call you?" He indicated Number Fifteen with a small gesture.

Carl was at a loss. He knew that if he tried to speak he would fall over his words and possibly begin to stutter again as he had when he was a child.

"You torture." He whispered, unwilling to let go of the idea. "What little I found says so."

"Torture has such," He paused as if searching for the right words and then smiled slightly when he found them. "Negative connotations. What we do is plunge our charges through the surface of suffering into a well of unknown pleasures so deep that earthly delights that seemed rapturous become exsanguinated shells of bland experience." His fingers curled in Number Fifteen's bloody hair, her eyes were fixed on him, her breaths shallow but steady.

Carl shook his head slightly. This was beyond what he expected. His mind couldn't process it.

"We do that because it is our function. You do this," sweeping his hand in a disdainful manner around the basement that Carl had been so proud of just days before. "Because you are broken. You seek love with all the desperation of the child who hides within you. I seek to educate. Everything that might have been of use to me is gone You are an eternally terrified child who is too enraptured by his own suffering to truly indulge the most superficial needs of another." He asked, looking down at Number Fifteen again. "Did she beg?"

Carl nodded.

"For what?"

"Death." Carl whispered. And that short derisive laugh filled the room again.

"You mean, escape." He stated simply, looking curiously at Number Fifteen's face.

Carl nodded, he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He watched Number Fifteen stare at this leather-clad creature, enraptured by his light touches. She had never looked at him that way, not even when he was just Carl, her loving Master-to-be. Something in him told him that she was so close to death that she would have looked at anyone that way, but he felt his jealousy rising anyway.

"It bothers you, doesn't it, the way that she looks at me." He said, as if reading Carl's mind. "You see in her gaze all the surrender you tried to wrench from her but couldn't." He broke the gaze and looked at Carl again. "What do you think she would beg me for? Escape from the pain, or to be taught the length and depth and breadth of suffering's ecstasy?"

"She wouldn't…" Carl's voice trailed off and he dropped his eyes. His body was trembling now, his hands shook at his sides.

"She would. But she is not the one who called. You are." He looked toward the opening that Carl had barely noticed now. Hooks attached to long chains hissed from the darkness,burying themselves in his chest, thighs and arms. The pain ripped through his consciousness as the metal ripped into his flesh. He screamed and some detached part of his mind realized that it had the same desperate tone as Number Fifteen's screams.

"But this isn't what I wanted," Carl protested, his own blood dripping down to mingle with hers on the floor. He thrashed wildly but couldn't unbury the hooks, or stop the chains that pulled him into the darkness. "No, PLEASE! Let me go, I can learn."

"Ah vanity," The cenobite lord said to Number Fifteen as he casually released her bonds. "A favorite human failing of mine." The corner of his mouth twisted slightly into a cold little smile before he turned his back and followed Carl's echoing screams into the portal.


End file.
